


Intrusive Thoughts

by Pyroperception



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Autistic Peter, M/M, Schizophrenic Wade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 04:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8148931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyroperception/pseuds/Pyroperception
Summary: Peter thinks Deadpool is secretly a good person in need of help.Wade wants to impress Spidey and gives up mercenary work for him.How long until they realize they've made a mistake?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beetle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Graphic Depictions of Violence and Disturbing Sexual Thoughts
> 
> {Yellow}
> 
> [White]

Peter's having a rough day. People keep pushing and nudging at him at work and frankly it's driving his superhuman senses insane. He just wants to go home and block out all the excessive white noise, all the stimuli -

“Hey bro, don't mind me, could ya give me one of those trench coats, yeah.. yeah! right there under those fugly yellow sweaters.” One of Peter's co-workers is pushing through with his giant trolley. Peter has one too. He hands the... guy? he certainly looks like one but he's got pink nails for some reason – _Guys can paint their nails, what's your problem?_ , says his inner voice and fuck. That wasn't his inner voice. And he said it out loud all too.

The tall, buff guy with the pink Hello Kitty nails, just smirks at him. “You're lucky you're so cute. Otherwise I'd have to chew your ear off about the hypocrisy of modern – hey you know what, I'm gonna do that anyway.” He laughs and goes to pat Peter's head good naturally.  
Peter feels mildly offended. _Does this guy think I'm a kid? No no kids don't work night shift, there's laws for that. He's gonna touch me stop stop abort-_

Peter jerks back. “Dude what the fuck, mind my personal space,” he says a bit too harshly.  
Other guy looks a bit offended at not being denied to patronizingly touch strangers. _God, don't let him be one of those old fucks with traditional values, Peter thinks. He looks kinda old with those Vietnam scars._

The vet catches himself and gives him a look. “Ay baby-boy didn't want to infringe on your _personal space_ like that.” He says personal space in a tone Peter can't identify. “Totes got off on the wrong foot here - fuck, my feet hurt, fuck this place - how about it, my prince, would you accept my most sincere apology? I'll lay out my jacket for you, so you don't have to get your toesies all wet in the puddles outside. I'll buy you ice-cream too. With cream and sprinkles on it, all ya want, sugar.”

Peter gets wide eyed. _Is this for real?_ This guy is real nice. “Really?”, he asks dreamily  
Mr. Sprinkles give him another look. “No, not rea-” Then he notices the shiny stars sparkling in Peter's eyes, _so hopeful_ and corrects himself: “Yes, yes of course baby boy. What's your favourite?”  
“Huh, I don't know”, Peter answers automatically and then one of the mangers comes around – finally, after what feels like 10 minutes – to shoo them back to work.

It's a lazy night, there's not much coming from the band-conveyor on the upper second floor. Still, even then you never get more than your assigned breaks in this shit place, you can't even sit down to rest your feet, nah boy you gotta be standing or we ain't paying you. Peter grimly thinks about how he's been here 8 hours and then some. It's almost half past ten pm. Just a few more minutes until he can rest his feet and then get his arms to work, swinging from web to web.

He digs letting out his frustration at being penniless and working crazy hours by beating up crooks at crazy hours for no pennies. Yeah, he should be a cop or join Shield, if he thinks about it. Then he remembers that Hydra fiasco a couple years ago, where he kinda observed from the sidelines. And just last week he was involved in putting a mole in the NYPD behind bars.

So, if he thinks about it - and wanting to keep his Aunt May and himself safe is still his number one priority, - he's gonna keep eating Ramen noodles with eggs and wear two sweaters to work. He would wear more in the cold November air but he only owns those two.

Peter finishes up, cards out and turns to the kitchen, hoping that someone left coffee in there. Old Marina is always so generous and leaves her leftovers in the fridge for Peter. She had heard his stomach grumbling one time – more akin to the sound of a growling Balrog – and pushed her home made lasagne (how does she find the time for that?) under his nose. She stuck a fork, freshly warm from the communal dishwasher in his face and told him simply. “Eat.” Or something else in Russian. Peter is one of those white boys that can only say “Davai brat” and “Nyet”, from the few hours he spend in a gaming café in Brighton Beach. He had a coupon and wanted to live a little, don't go pointin' no fingers at him.

After gorging himself on crackers and coffee with no milk (gross!), Peter steps out into the chilling air. He plans to make off to a side alley and strip out into his costume - He's already shivering at the thought of it, pulling his head down, burying it deeper into his scarf – when he runs into a brick wall. Said brick wall is Mr. Sprinkly Kitty Veteran, who's packaged in a thick army coat but not from the good old USA, Peter notes, but Canada.

“Heya, there. You still wanna get ice cream?”, Mr. Fine Canadian Bacon asks.

“Uh..,” Peter shortcircuits, “I don't even know your name?”

“Wade Wilson, but don't call me Mr Wilson, I'm not that old. But if you're into that, you can call me Daddy.”

“Um. How about no.”

“Alright, what's your name babyboy?”, Wade asks, as enthusiastic as ever. He's been like that since the beginning of the shift, Peter remembers. _Wait, wasn't he that guy who sang_ Friday /em >even more off-key than the original song while he raced down the aisle on the trolley. How can he just do that? I'd get fired...

Oblivious to Peter's monologue, Wade continues chewing his ear off: “Wait, let me guess,... s'gotta be something special but casual, boy-next-door-vibey, - ah Aloysius darling, you feeling cold?”

Wade's finally taken in Peter's hunched stature. Standing in the cold talking with half-strangers wasn't helping the tweens snotty nose. Wade moves in as if to huddle Peter in his warm, meaty arms but stops himself. “So...” he drawls, “that's a no to the ice cream then? How about Pizza then, huh? Or Rice with Chicken? Or Mexican. Nevermind I hate Tacos, since Tuesday. Cause Yellow had a dream about breaking up with his Now-Ex, who was a totally salty enchilada – good riddance if you ask me – and then they got back together and had pity sex, then broke up again, and did full-on hatefucking...”

Peter's tuned out the guy, after being called _Aloysius_ of all things. He's gotten good at that since being called names in high school. He's gotten so good at it that the starved college-dropout doesn't even hear the mentions of free food coming from somewhere in the general vicinity of him. Zombie-Peter mumbles a quiet “Raincheck”, twirls around Wade like a Drunken Boxer and walks to his next daily checkpoint. Hurray for routine: The only palpable rock in his life. Now that his Aunt is sick and he's gotta take care of her but has no money to pay the bills.

He faintly hears Wade calling behind him. “Okay, cya tomorrow then!”

Two blocks away from his workplace he realizes he didn't even tell Wade his name.

-

Wade's trying to be a good guy. So he has to stop being Deadpool and more Liverpool.

[Brits ruin everything.]

{Yeah, like The Office and Magneto and Pop music in the 60's.}

[I was talking about world colonization.]

The boxes are no help. He just wants to be a good father for his Ellie-Bellie, a hero, someone who she can look up to and who gets to strike a cool pose on TV. Which then actually gets reposted on social media sites with captions like #Coolpool #NinjaSpidey #BetterThanCapIronManTheWholeJusticeLeague, by someone who's not him and his sixteen fake accounts.

{There's nothing fake about food fiction.}

[Your chick-flick with Enchiladina was terrible. Drop it.]

{Not as terrible as the Big Guy's pathetic attempt at being a do-gooder.}

[We did worse things for getting a slice of that booty. Maximum effort for Spidey]

{Remember when we let Cable emotionally manipulate us, so we could be his cockwarmer? Good times..}

“Guys, I'm not a doormat who's trying to get some. We're doing this to better ourselves.” Wade's making pancakes in the kitchen. His dark hoodie is covered in flour.

[Keep telling yourself that, slut.]

{Yeah bitch.}

“Shut up, Jesse Pinkman.” He flips pancake number fifty-six like that guy from Hell's Kitchen.

{Since when can Matt cook better than us.}

[He's blind not hypo-sensory to taste.]

{Hypo-what? Hippopotamus? He's to V-shaped to be called fat.}

[I'm amazed you could even said that in our head out loud without breaking yourself.]

“Guys, do I just pack in the maple syrup for Spidey? Or the ice cream too? What about the chocolate syrup?”

[The ice cream's gonna melt, idiot.]

“It's freezing outside.”

{Our hot bod is gonna melt it.} Yellow makes a sound as if a drop of water hits a hot stove. { Also Spidey's not The One, if he eats his pancakes with anything else than trademarked maple syrup goodness.}

[Food preferences are no basis for relationships.]

“That's a lie and you now it, Mista' White. The way to a guy's heart is through his stomach.”

[Stop watching Breaking Bad, it's a terrible show.]

{We should cut up Spidey if we wanna get to his heart so bad. I bet he would look real nice with a few extra holes.}

“I don't do necrophilia. And the 4th season was a masterpiece. Shut up, both of you.” Wade cleans up his kitchen in a hurry or what he calls cleaning. He gets out of his civies in which he fell asleep in yesterday Friday, minus his pants.

[Nobody sleeps in pants.]

{He's just saying he Jack hammered it, thinking off that beautiful angel from work.}

[Weasel? Gross. Speaking of Weas and work, let's call him to see, if he's got any jobs. Yellow's getting bloodthirstier by the hour.]

“La la la, flowers and puppies, we're a tree loving hippie now. Sorry, not sorry can't do that.” With that Wade walked to his closet in all his naked horror, where he kept his suits – out of the eye, out of the mind – and started dressing up.

He kept humming I was _Lost Without You_ , doing his best to ignore the boxes or to try to steer them off and away from thoughts of burning his family alive on spit roasts. It kind of worked.

[Bird-aliens with breasts are unrealistic.]

{Blue space babes wanting our ugly pizza face is unrealistic. I bet they'd rather eat pizza with pineapple than us, too.}

“Morinth would eat us.”

{Yeah but she's a sex demon which is kinda hot, not gonna lie.}

[It's blatant pandering to the idea that all women are sex demons...] White goes off into a rant about human rights, which devolves into a screaming contest with Yellow, who unironically likes Trump.

Wade packs up the food he made, whistling, and heads out to meet up with Spidey.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Graphic Depictions of Violence, Attemped Rape and Racism

Peter brings his aunt to the hospital after he wakes up on Saturday morning. He sits outside on the plastic chairs, while she gets her check up.

Aunt May had reprimanded him, when he came late to pick her up, because he slept in. He didn't feel like telling her that he woke up on time. He was still in his suit from last night, covered from head to toe in what smelt like mayonnaise. The Juggernaut had bulldozered him through the windows of a 7/11, Spiderman had crashed in the Salad Dressing Aisle.

He had showered for 20 minutes until the cold water became ice water and the stings became too much for his skin.

“Peter?” An exasperated voice comes from his right. His aunt jerks her head, a shake. “You live too much in your head, my boy. Here, could you- Thank you, dear.” His aunt walks out the door and he rushes to her side. She leans on him heavily, which is strange, since she walked here without problem. He really wants to ask her what the Doctor told her, but he waits for her to open up.

His aunt sniffs at him, getting awfully close like parent people always do. “Peter, do you work at McDonald's now? You smell like fries. Don't tell me you have two jobs now. Let it be told to you from a woman who has worked all her life as a nurse, that your feet are gonna hate you for that at _my_ age.”

“I'm not working at any fast food joint or any second job, aunt May.” He navigates her out of the building, eyes on the area while she keeps eyeing him. It makes his skin crawl.

She gives him a look. “You should visit more, you know, Peter. Bring someone along from your friends. I get so lonely, dear.”

“I'll try, aunt May”, Peter sighs and helps her down the stairs of the hospital building.

She touches down to the board walk with both her feet and takes him by the shoulders. “A man should stay true to his promises, Peter. Ben taught you better than that.” She gives him another look. He doesn't meet her eyes. It's not like he knows what she's thinking.

“Yes, of course aunt May.” Peter answers on autopilot.

He walks her back, they take the bus, his aunt being motherly and him nodding along. Peter knows he should honor his Uncle Ben but he's tired of being compared to him. They're different people and his uncle wasn't as perfect as his aunt makes him out to be.

“Are you still friends with that Watson girl?”, May ask as they're coming closer to their stop. “She's a bit too eager for someone so young, don't you think? People your age shouldn't get too invested in politics, Peter.” She shaker her head, knowingly. “I saw her at that demonstration with those thugs. She's just making the job harder for people who are trying to protect us.”

 _Does she mean Spiderman or the police?_ Peter says nothing and gets her home.

-

Spiderman is sitting on a rooftop, away from prying eyes. He's not hiding from the tourists - he likes taking selfies with them, sometimes - but the police are being particularly trigger happy these days.

“Webs!”, someone screams and then he hears a _Snap_ , a girly scream and a _Unf_ , as Deadpool falls on top of him, nearly throwing him of the building, if not for his sticky fingers.

“I made you pancakes like I promised you last time”, Deadpool fake whispers all too loudly into his ear, like he's selling him drugs. “Here, they're the best this side of the border, if I might say so myself, but be square with me-” Peter shoves Deadpool off of him with a thud.

“Oh, Spidey, you're all sharp elbows today? I've been a good boy, so it can't be me, right. Right?” The ex-merc gestures to himself. “Come on drown your sorrows in syrup and spill the beans with me, wink wink nudge nudge.” Deadpool says the emoticons out loud while acting them out in real life, plopping down next to his idol.

Peter makes a noise of exasperation. He's been feeling more lonely than usually lately. His aunt's health worries him. She hasn't been herself lately, her loving nature has become bitter. He doesn't blame her, she's an adult, she has real life problems. Aunt May is withering away and he can't do nothing but cut his job and college plans and most of his free time, and work hard at the best paying job he can find, no matter how brain-dead boring it is.

Not like he spends his free time on much besides beating up crooks in an alley, anyway. All his friends have left, one way or another: Harry and Gwen are dead. Mary Jane and him broke it off on bad terms (“You're aunt is racist, Peter. I know how she talks about me behind my back.” “She's just old, MJ-” “Old people don't get a free card for being bigots, tiger.” “She's the only family I have left, what do you want me to do?”)

He's feeling hopeless, so he did the crazy thing and has been trying to be friends with Deadpool, of all people. Maybe he's gonna get a miracle.

Peter slurps down the crispy, still warm pancakes while Deadpool shoves more into his mouth, until his face looks like a hamster. He's starting patrol with a full stomach today, so things are going _great_.

-

Things go to shit after seven sunny hours of cold November air. They've made their rounds all over Queens and Brooklyn. Deadpool has been trying to use his grappling hook to swing after Spidey (he kept a spare rope in his pouches.) It's not that he sucks at it – he's just _terribly_ slow and keeps crashing into buildings because he doesn't know any basic rules of inertia.

Peter even offers to carry him, telling Deadpool that he doesn't have to copy every aspect of his hero image, to be a good person. (“Stop copying my moves, dude.”) But if the Ex-Merc with a Mouth is one thing, it's _relentless_. (“I'm not stubborn, Spidey. You are!”) 

They saved up the red light district for the end of the tour. Mainly because dealing with drunken people makes Peter uncomfortable.

It just happens too fast: There's a cry for help, Spiderman notices a big figure hovering over a woman, her clothes half ripped off, - Deadpool's on the assailant in seconds and then the woman is screaming for endlessly different reasons because her would-be-rapist's head is rolling towards her.

Peter is shell-shocked. The day had been nice. Deadpool had been funny, almost weirdly charming even, with his crude humour and various references to pop culture and Spiderman's physical assets. But he let his guard down and now he's paying the price for it. _Not you, but it's your fault._

Deadpool casually shakes the blood from one of his katanas and sheaths them, making hiccuping sounds. He looks up at the street worker, who momentarily stops trying to shatter his ear drums, to run away surprisingly fast on leopard stilettos.

Spiderman doesn't stop her. His shock has turned to anger and he punches Deadpool in the jaw, probably shattering it, but right now he doesn't care because: “You just murdered a fucking person!”  
His voice isn't shaking, just high from hysteria.

Deadpool's caught himself from whatever the fuck he was in just seconds ago... a manic episode? Devilish glee? “Fucking answer me”, Peter all but screams but throttles his voice. He doesn't scream. Never. people screaming scare the shit out of him.

Deadpool's response takes a while which means he actually did break the guy's jaw because he hears a definitive crack as he fondles his face. “Wow, Spidey you must be really mad, 'cause you're using swear words and that's so not hero-”

Spiderman webs his mouth shut. He starts pacing back and worth, throwing his hands in the air. “I should call the police and let them take you away. I just can't believe – I thought -”, his voice mumbles off.

( _“Don't mumble, Peter. You won't be respected anywhere in life if you can't talk clearly”, Uncle Ben says at the dinner table. Little Peter just nods his head because his voice is a barely there whisper and his self esteem is even less present._ )

“Uh, Spidey”, comes from his side. _Why am I turning my back to him?_ “You realize that guy was scum right? I mean he just forced himself on that girl and she was like crying and shit and that's a big no no for the Poolboy.” He's twirling a combat knife between his fingers with which he cut his mouth free to speak.

Peter stares at him with his wide bug-eyes. “You shouldn't have killed him. We should have given him to the police.”

A quiet laugh is his response. “They wouldn't do shit, he'd just be out and about the next night. Nah, this was the best solution.”

“Guess it's my turn to solve a problem then? 'Cause I'm turning you.” Spiderman flips up his hand to web his ex-partner, ex-friend ex-...everything up but he hesitates for a moment. _I want him gone but..._ That seems to be enough for Deadpool because he reaches into his many pouches-o-plenty and pulls out an electronic device and... vanishes.

 _Teleporter, huh? Problem solved. Good job, son, you let him get away,_ says the authoritative ghost of Captain Stacy in his head.

Peter half-heartedly searches the area, after giving one last look at the hacked up corpse rapidly steaming off in the cold air. He shudders but not because of the glassy look in the guy's eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just getting things rolling.
> 
> {Yellow}
> 
> [White]

Wade is burning the fliers with job offers which Spidey has given to him. The corner of his kitchen is starting to look black and lots of grey smoke is filling the immediate kitchen area – a mini fridge with a rusty sink and a portable stove in the corner.

He doesn't give a shit if he gets carbon monoxide poisoning and keels over. After spending the last few hours rolling on the fast food wrappers covering his floor, he's lost all motivation to keep calm and carry on. The only reason he's gotten up is because he felt like setting something on fire. Preferably himself. 

[We had to act. That girl looked too much like Ellie. We couldn't let that happen to her.]

{She looked nothing like our sweet gumdrop. More like Cameron Diaz. Mhm, now that I think about it she kinda looked like our Mum honestly. Our Mum was hot.}

“Choke on a dick, Freud. I don't know what our Mum looked like and neither do both of you.”

{You sure about that? Your memory leaks more than a cheese grater. Oh, oh, but do you remember Spidey's face!? The look of utter betrayal in his eyes gave me totes butterflies!}, Yellow cackles.

[We didn't betray him. Mainly because we didn't promise anything.]

“No, we did... I did. It's my fault.” Wade smears the ashes around. The embers make his skin prickle.

{Yeah you're right. Or are you, Mr. Responsibility? More like it was Spidey's fault because he trusted us to begin with, hah! Ding-Ding-Ding. He's way to naïve. Can't trust him, he's wrong and knows nothing of the real world. No, the only one you can trust is me.}

“Bullshit, Spidey hates our guts now because of you.”

[Yeah, bullshit, you're the one who wanted to needle that crook.]

{B-b-b-but we didn't!! T'was a clean cut, from the back to the front, from the windooooow to the waaaalll. We're back in killing business, baby, let's ce-le-brate, come on!! Get the hookers and the booze.}

Wade grumbles, thinking about it. He hastily gets up, scattering the ashes every way, which he promptly stomps out. Motor boating some plastic boobies is just the thing to get him out of his post party depression., he thinks. He looks for his wallet, which he finds discarded between scattered glass where he trashed his salad bowl earlier. “Why do I have a salad bowl anyway”, he asks noone in particular and the boxes don't dignify him with an answer. Snagging up his wallet, rummages in it, then turns it over but only a cockroach falls out. “Fucknoodles, I don't have money for hookers. Thanks for getting my hopes up for nothing.”

[Yeah, we're kinda broke. Check your bank account. Trying to do normie jobs ain't giving us no mad cash flow.]

{See, Spidey doesn't care if we get better, cause we have no money to pay for our meds. He actually wants us to be crazy!}

[Not like we have a prescription.], White says in his head. Wade can feel him rolling his eyes at the other box.

“I'm sick and tired of both of you lying to me”, he snaps.

{Oh, big boy, I'm hurt!}, Yellow cries. {I'd never to do that. White knight over there though...}

[We can still fix this you know...], White interjects.

{Look, more lies! Shoot him! Shoot the liar.}

“No no shut up, you've done enough. How can we fix this?”

[Simple. We go and stalk-]

{Yay, stalking! Spidey's taught us so well.}

[Shut up, I meant observate, like in Lethal Weapon-]

{Was there even an observation scene in that movie? I kinda forgot.}

“It's a cop movie, of course there is. And they made four of those, so that makes it even more likely. Now shut up, I wanna hear White's idea.”

[Alright, we're gonna low-key observate that stoned kid from work. Follow him to his dealer. Give them both a pep talk and get him clean. Bam-Wam, that's the plan, thank me later after Spidey's kissing our feet for being a good Samaritan]

{Is it just me or do you have a foot fetish? Also, Spidey's gonna forgive us cause we stop a random junkie from OD'ing?}

“What junkie”, Wade asks, all business.

[That twitchy guy with wide Bambi eyes, who totally comes to work blazed as fuck every day.]

{Oh babyboy numero duo? Why didn't you say so, compadre. Let's go find him and find out everything about him to what underwear he wears. I bet it's briefs.}

-

Peter's finishing his shift on Monday, walking out with his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, when he hears someone call his name. He looks up, confused, and sees a red-hared girl waving at him. She's standing with a group in the remote area of the warehouse entrance. Every other second they start cheering loudly at the break dancer in the middle of them. Peter is eyeing his moves curiously, comparing them with his own.

“It's alright, Jake. See you later”, he hears her whisper to a tall, black guy next to her, ah she leans closer to him. Peter's sure he can hear her lips smacking on his cheek with his sensitive hearing. She lightly jogs over, her hair bouncing with every step. “Hey, tiger, you up for a chat?”

“How do you even know where I work, MJ?” Peter asks. He is hungry as hell because his co-worker Marina apparently called in sick today and didn't leave him any leftovers in the fridge. So he forgets to return the greeting and gets straight to the point. He's not trying to seem mad, so he makes a smile tugs at his lips - he's just surprised to see her.

“Okay, okay, you got me.” She puts her arms on her hips, huffing. “Your aunt called me. After talking my ear off about what a helpless puppy you are and how you are her one and only nephew, and how I should give you another chance and all, I just couldn't resist but-”

“MJ, please.”

“Alright, alright, calm down. She told me you've been acting weird.” She makes a gesture.

“You mean like I _act all the time_?”, he asks, now actually annoyed.

“No, I mean- more than usual.” She gives him a genuine smile which he discerns by the way her eyes are crinkling. “She's just worried about you, Peter. You've been acting like a shut-in lately.” She walks a step closer and links her arm with his. “Let's go out, hmm tiger? Have some fun, how's that sound?”

“I'm not a child you know. You don't have to make my decisions for me, MJ. Also I like being a shut-in.”

MJ pointedly rolls her eyes at him. “No need to be rude. Come on, live a little.” She gives him a once-over from his comfy hoodie and the backpack slung over his shoulder to his well-worn sneakers with dried paint on them. “Don't think they're gonna let us into any clubs with what you're sporting, but we can go drinking.”

“I have work tomorrow, MJ”, he whines and he feels like a child backtalking his parent. _And a city with millions to protect tonight._

“But Peeeter.” She drawls out his name in a long sound that grinds on his ears. He slumps his shoulders in defeat but tugs his arms a bit tighter on himself.

“Fine, good. You win. I have like 5 dollars but I'm too young to drink anyway.”

“You're twenty, not fifteen. 'S fine I'll buy. Giddy-up!”

-

Wade sees them turn the corner, a frown on his scarred face. He's been sitting on the back of a graffitied bench, waiting impatiently for the past few hours and he's been bored out of his fucking mind since the first fifteen minutes. He started playing with a knife absently but the group of black kids next to him have been giving him the eyes like he's a skinhead trying to start a turf war, so he begrudgingly pulled his hand back into his pocket.

“Damn, Petey's dealer is one hot bombshell”, he mutters.

[That fine lady is his girlfriend, not his dealer, you racist fuck, if her hanging of his like arm candy is any indication.]

{Doesn't mean she can't be both. Bad girls dig nerdy guys.}

[In your dreams maybe, you neckbeard.]

{Not my fault big guy fantasizes about being Spidey's trophy wife, when he's done moping.]

“We gonna follow them and get the facts or you overused memes wanna keep circle jerking?”, Wade asks the boxes sarcastically. He doesn't wait for their response but slides of the bench and gets in motion.

{But gossiping is fun!}, Yellow whines shrilly in his head.


End file.
